Save My Brother
by Supervillegirl
Summary: Set after "Death Takes a Holiday." Something's happening to Dean that could mean his life. Can Sam save him in time? And will Dean let Sam save him? Hurt!Dean. NO WINCEST!
1. Chapter 1

Save My Brother

Set after "Death Takes a Holiday"

Dean Winchester looked over at the passenger seat to find his little brother Sam asleep against the window. The two of them were headed to the old house where the body of a ghost they were hunting was hidden. Dean looked at the clock on his radio: 11:40 PM.

_Man, this is gonna be a long night…_

"Ah!" Dean suddenly yelled, turning the wheel to the right as his right hand flew to his left ribs. The Impala swerved onto the shoulder, bumping along.

Sam jolted up in his seat, eyes wide. "Dean, what the hell?"

Dean jerked the wheel, sending the car back onto the road. He breathed deeply as his hand clutched his left side under his jacket.

"What happened?" asked Sam, glancing over at Dean.

"Nothing," Dean told him, moving his hand back to the wheel. "Deer in the road."

Sam sat back in his seat. "Oh. You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"We almost there?"

"Uh, another twenty minutes."

Sam fell into silence, and Dean looked back at the road.

_What the hell __**was **__that?_

Something hard and sharp had slammed into his left side. But there was nothing there. He was just sitting in the Impala when the pain hit him…but nothing had hit him.

Twenty minutes of worrying later, Dean parked the car and sat in the driver's seat as Sam got out. As soon as Sam closed the door, Dean lifted his shirt up, glancing down at his torso. Purple bruises littered the skin above his ribs.

"What the hell…" Dean muttered.

"Hey."

Dean let his shirt fall as he looked over at the passenger door.

"You coming?" asked Sam. "I need the keys."

Dean climbed out of the Impala, heading for the trunk and unlocking it. They pulled salt guns, salt shells, a bag of salt, a can of gas, and two shovels out before closing it. They made their way into the house, heading for the cellar. They walked around on the dirt floor, looking for where the body might be buried.

They finally came upon a flat patch of dirt, like someone had patted the dirt down. They set everything down, beginning to dig. Half an hour later, they found the bones.

"Alright," said Dean. "Let's burn this mother up."

The ghost appeared in front of Dean, throwing him out of the grave and into the wall. Dean looked up to see Sam grappling with the ghost, the salt gun at his throat. Dean scrambled to his feet, rushing towards the grave. He felt a pain flare up across his face, and the next second, he was on his back. The pain had been hard and blunt, but just like in the Impala, the pain had come out of nowhere.

_What the hell is going on?_

Sam gave a shout of pain, shaking Dean from his thoughts. He jumped up, pouring salt and gas on the corpse. He lit a match and dropped it in, igniting the bones. The ghost disappeared, the salt gun dropping.

Sam looked up at Dean, eyes wide. "What happened to you?"

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You got a giant bruise across your face," Sam told him.

Dean walked over to an old mirror, looking at the purple bruise spreading from his eye to his nose over his cheek bone.

_Seriously, what the hell?!_

"Huh," said Dean. "Must've hit my head when he threw me."

"You okay?" Sam asked, concerned.

"No, actually," Dean said, facing Sam with a bit pout on his face. "Hold me, Sam. I think I'm gonna cry." His pout disappeared. "Yes, I'm okay! It's a frigging flesh wound, man! I think I'll live!"

Sam waved him off, turning to grab his shovel. "Just asking, man."

Dean and Sam filled the grave and headed back to the Impala. It was 1:00 AM now, and it took an hour to get back to the motel. Half an hour away, Dean was staring at the road in front of him when he felt pain explode in his head, blurring his vision.

"Dean!"

The world went black.

* * *

Sam looked over to see Dean's head whip to the side.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, reaching for his brother.

Dean's eyes slid closed, his head dropping onto his chest and hands falling from the wheel. The Impala drifted towards the guardrail, and Sam grabbed the wheel. He aimed the car towards an empty patch of dirt and grass on the other side of the road. He slid his leg across the bench seat, kicking Dean's limp one out of the way and slamming on the brake pedal. The Impala jerked to a stop, and Sam pulled the parking brake, not bothering to shift it into park.

"Dean!" Sam called, leaning over his brother. A cut was bleeding on Dean's forehead over his right eye, which Sam knew had not been there a minute ago. "What the hell?" He placed his hands on Dean's shoulder, shaking him. "Dean, wake up. Come on, Dean."

Dean moaned, lightly slapping Sam's hand away. "I'm not in the mood, Cassie. Go get your rocks off somewhere else."

Sam almost laughed out loud. "Sure, Dean, I'll get right on that."

Dean's eyes flew open, and he looked up at Sam. "Sam?"

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing," Dean brushed off. "Probably delayed reaction to hitting the wall."

"Bullshit," said Sam. "I watched a cut appear on your forehead like you were getting hit by something, but there was nothing there. That is not normal." Dean put a hand to his cut, bringing it away bloody. "You can't sweep this under the rug."

"I don't know, man," said Dean, confusion on his face. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Well, for starters, how about, 'You drive, Sam.'"

"What? No way!"

"Dean, whatever's happening with you, you got knocked out at the wheel. Do you want to die?"

Dean mulled it over for a moment before rolling his eyes. "Bitch." Dean got out of the car and walked to the passenger side, getting in. Sam had slid over to the wheel.

"Jerk," Sam replied, pulling back onto the road.

As they pulled into the parking space in front of their room, Dean suddenly gasped, shooting up in his seat.

"What?" said Sam frantically. "What is it?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean muttered, drawing his arms around himself and moving his legs incessantly. "So cold!"

"You're cold?" asked Sam, feeling Dean's forehead. Dean slapped his hand away. "Well, you don't have a fever or anything."

"Not that kind of cold, you idiot," Dean told him. "It feels like—" Dean broke off as he shivered violently, gasping again. "It feels like I got dunked in a lake in the middle of winter and then stuck in a walk-in freezer."

"Come on, let's get you inside," said Sam, getting out of the car. He headed to Dean's door: he hadn't moved. Sam opened the door. "What's wrong?"

"I can't hardly moved," Dean muttered, rubbing his hands over his chest.

Sam reached in and pulled Dean to his feet. He wrapped Dean's arm around his shoulder, grasping his hand.

Sam gasped, looking at the hand he had a hold on. "Man, Dean, your hands are like ice."

Sam quickly moved Dean to the room, unlocking the door. He ushered Dean inside, putting him on a bed. He shut the door, turning the lights on. He flipped the heater on to its max, heading for Dean's duffel.

Sam knelt next to Dean. "Come on, let's get you into something warmer."

Dean shook his head, hugging himself tight. "Too cold."

"Dean, I gotta warm you up. I'll be quick."

Dean shrugged out of his jacket, letting Sam strip him of his shirts.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Sam. He stared at the bruises on Dean's ribs. "Was that from the ghost, too?"

"Uh…yeah?" Dean told him, too cold to make it sound believable.

Sam glared at him. "Dean…"

"Alright, alright, warm me up first, then I'll tell you," said Dean, shivering again.

Sam got two long-sleeved shirts onto Dean, along with two pairs of socks. He stuffed him under the blankets, pulling the blankets from the second bed on top of him. Dean clutched the blankets close, shaking.

"Alright, spill," said Sam.

"I didn't swerve because a deer was in the road," Dean told him. "Something hit me in the ribs."

"Something?"

"It was like the cut. Nothing was there, but it still hit me."

Sam frowned, pointing at Dean's face. "That wasn't from hitting the wall, was it?"

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes. "After I hit the wall, I got up, but something hit me in the face, knocking me down."

"What the hell is going on?" muttered Sam.

"N-no c-clue, S-Sam-my," Dean shivered.

Sam rushed to their first-aid kit, grabbing the thermometer. He rushed back to the side of the bed.

"Open up," Sam told him. Dean opened his mouth, and Sam stuck the thermometer under his tongue. He waited for a moment until it beeped. Sam pulled it out and looked at it. "Shit!"

Sam put the thermometer on the bedside table and proceeded to climb into the bed next to Dean.

"W-What are y-you d-doing, S-Sam?" asked Dean, wanting to pull away, but the warmth felt so good.

"Your temperature is at 96 degrees and dropping," Sam told him. "I gotta use body heat to warm you up. No laughing; I'm trying to save your life."

Dean didn't have the strength to make any sarcastic comments as Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's chest. Dean instinctively snuggled closer to the body heat.

"Crap, Dean, you're so cold," Sam hissed as Dean's face touched his neck.

They lay there for a few minutes before Sam stuck the thermometer into Dean's mouth again. He pulled it out, eyes wide.

"95?" said Sam.

"Th-th-that b-b-bad?" Dean was shivering violently now.

"That's bordering on hypothermia, Dean," Sam told him, pulling Dean closer.

"Th-th-this n-n-n—"

"Never leaves the room, I got it."

Fifteen minutes later, Dean's temperature had dropped to 93 degrees.

"That's it," said Sam, pulling out his cell phone. "We need help."

A knock came at the door, and Sam looked up at it. he was reluctant to leave Dean, but he didn't have a choice. He opened the door to a familiar face.

"And help is what you'll get," said Missouri Moseley.

**200 points to whoever can figure out what's happening to Dean!**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Moment of truth: Get ready to be stunned!**

"Missouri?" asked Sam as the psychic came into the room. "How'd you know Dean was in trouble?"

"I sensed it, how else?" barked Missouri. "Took me two hours to get here."

"What's happening to him?" asked Sam.

"He's dying," Missouri told him.

"Dying?!" exclaimed Sam. "Why?"

"Fate," said Missouri. "He's dying the death of his previous life."

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Because his past life died before his time," said Missouri.

"Who was his past life?" asked Sam.

"A young man named Matthew Campbell."

"Campbell? That's—"

"Your mother's family's name, yes. Matthew was your distant uncle. He died when he was thirty."

"S-So?" shivered Dean.

"So, you're thirty," said Missouri.

Dean stared at her. "S-So?"

"Use your head, boy!" said Missouri. "You're the same age as he was when he died."

"How'd he die?" asked Sam.

"At this very hour 97 years ago, the _Titanic_ sank," said Missouri.

Sam stared at her. "He was on the _Titanic_?"

"Along with his cousin, Alexander Campbell," said Missouri. She looked at Sam. "Your past life."

"I was there, too?" asked Sam.

"Yes. That's why Matt died."

"Because of Alex?"

"Matt had practically raised Alex. They were like brothers. Matt saved his cousin at the cost of his own life. Sound familiar?"

Sam looked back at Dean. "Yeah."

_Is he destined to protect me forever?_ Sam wondered.

"So, what do we do?" asked Sam.

"You have to go back and save Matt," said Missouri. "It's the only way to save Dean."

"You mean, time travel?" asked Sam.

"Not really," said Missouri. "More like astral possession."

"Astral possession?"

"Your souls will travel back and possess the bodies of your past selves."

"You can do that?"

"Yes."

Sam looked back to see that Dean had stopped shivering, and his face was turning blue. "Dean!" He rushed over, pulling his brother into his arms.

"We must hurry!" said Missouri. "He's fading fast!"

"What do I do?" asked Sam.

"Leave that to me," said Missouri, chanting in Latin before putting her palm to Sam's forehead.

* * *

Sam felt something impact the front of him. He opened his eyes to look around. He was on the floor of a small room with four bunks in it.

"Alex?" came a voice from his right above him. "Are you okay?"

Sam looked up to see a face peering down at him from a top bunk. Under the guy was an empty bunk.

_The one I fell out of…_

"Son of a bitch…" came a familiar voice from Sam's left.

Sam whispered his head over to see someone sitting up in the other bottom bunk. Sam's eyes widened in shock. "Dean?"

The man looked up at Sam, frowning. "Sammy?"

"You came, too?" asked Sam.

"Must have," answered Dean. "Last thing I remember is Missouri putting her hand on my head."

"Wait, I thought your names were Matt and Alex," came the voice above them.

Sam looked up at their roommate, thinking fast. "They are. Matthew Dean Campbell and Alexander Samuel Campbell. We like our middle names better."

"Oh, okay," the guy said, getting down from the bunk.

Sam looked back at Dean. Matt looked exactly like Dean, and Sam would imagine that he looked exactly like Alex. Matt's hair was grown down to his ears, which allowed his blonde to show. He was dressed in a pair of trousers, but no shirt.

"Dude, I always knew you were the girl," said Dean suddenly.

"What?"

"Check out your hair."

Sam got up, approaching the small mirror in their cabin. His hair was drawn back, tied with a string. Sam turned his head to see that his hair fell a little past his shoulders. He also noticed he was dressed in trousers and a white, cotton shirt.

"This is so weird," said Sam.

"Wait a minute, what's the day?" asked Dean.

Sam shrugged and looked to the man, who was watching them with interest.

"Sunday…" said the man.

"April 14, right?" asked Sam.

"Yeah…" said the man. "Are you guys okay?"

Dean smirked as he put a hand to his head. "Rough night."

"Ah," said the man, smiling. "You did have a rough night at the party. But I wouldn't be complaining."

"You wouldn't?" asked Dean.

"If I was lucky enough to have that many girls hanging all over me, whew…" said the man.

Dean laughed as Sam walked over to him.

"Jeez, Dean, don't you ever change?" Sam said in a quiet voice.

"Hell, no," said Dean as he rummaged for a shirt.

Once they were both dressed, they headed into the corridor. They froze as they looked at the endless maze ahead of them.

"Which way's up?" asked Dean, looking at Sam.

Sam glared at him. "I've never been here before!"

"Would it kill these people to put a map up?" said Dean.

They wandered for a minute before coming across a steward.

"Excuse me," Dean called, running up to him. "Where's the exit to this rat maze?"

The steward blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs. "What he means to say is, could you show us the way to the deck?"

"Of course," said the steward. He pointed down the corridor. "Turn right at the end of the corridor, take the first left, and the staircase will lead you to the general room."

"Thank you," said Sam.

As they turned away, Dean looked at him. "What was the elbow for?"

"You can't talk like that," said Sam. "First off, it's rude. Second, they're not gonna understand you."

They found the general room four decks up and headed through the door to sunshine. They were standing on a deck near the back of the _Titanic_.

"This is so weird…" said Dean.

"Tell me about it," said Sam.

"Alright, let's go warn the captain," said Dean as he headed for the stairs.

Sam darted in front of Dean, stopping him. "Whoa, wait, what?"

"Well, what else do you think Missouri meant by, 'stop it'?" said Dean. "Dude, how cool is this, we get to be the ones to save the _Titanic_!"

"Dean, we can't change history," said Sam. "Besides, what are you gonna tell him? That you're from the future? That you're psychic and had a vision that we're gonna sink?"

"Hey, that's a pretty good idea."

"Forget it, Dean. You can't."

"Sam, our job is to save people. Here's our chance to save the 2,000 people that died—"

"It was 1,500 people, Dean."

"Whatever! We can help them. What could happen from not allowing a ship to sink?"

"Dean, if the _Titanic_ doesn't hit that iceberg, who knows what could happen! It's because of that tragedy that ship companies began looking at passenger safety. They put more lifeboats on the ships. The ship companies also pulled back on their competition with each other to build the biggest and best ships. The _Titanic_ ushered in the Industrial Era that lead to World War I—"

"Exactly! We can stop World War I, maybe even II!"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it! The Industrial Era helped us with World War I. We can't mess with fate. Or did you not learn that in 1973?"

"You're seriously bringing that up right now?"

"Hell, yeah! We're just here to save Matt, Dean."

"What better way to save him?"

"If the _Titanic_ doesn't sink, another ship is bound to later. Maybe that one will be loaded with even more passengers. Pick your poison, Dean."

Dean looked up at some children playing on the stern, laughing. He glanced down at his feet. "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

"Never said you had to be."

"Alright, what now, Einstein?"

"Right now, we relax and wait."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Thanks to Historychick1835 for the idea at the end of the chapter. I loved the thought and just had to make it work. What do you know? It did! Enjoy!**

Sam and Dean sat in the third-class general room, sifting through their lunch.

"This is disgusting," Dean muttered, poking at his meal with his spoon.

"It's all we got," Sam told him, halfway through his meal, although not too happy about it. "Eat or starve."

"I mean, come on, Sam," said Dean. "Porridge? There's no way this stuff is edible. I want a cheeseburger."

"They don't have those here," Sam told him.

Dean frowned. "1915 sucks."

"1912," Sam corrected him.

"Shut up," Dean snapped.

"Dean, you need your strength for tonight. Now eat, or so help me, I will shove it down your throat."

Dean frowned again and reluctantly scooped some porridge into his mouth. The taste was disgusting, and his gag reflex kicked in for a moment. "Ugh…"

"Quit complaining."

"It's not right," Dean muttered. He shoved another horrible spoonful into his mouth. "No, no, it's downright unholy. Where's the friggin' holy water?"

A steward came to the long tables, passing out new dishes. When he reached the brothers, Dean's eyes widened at the oysters in front of him.

Dean turned to the steward. "I can't eat this."

The steward glared at him. "And why not?"

"I'm allergic to shellfish," Dean told him. (In "Red Sky at Morning," Dean mentioned he had a severe shellfish allergy—disguised as an allergy for Bela.)

The steward's eyebrows contracted. "What?"

Sam leaned forward. "Uh, fish makes him sick. Do you possibly have anything else?"

"No," said the steward. "He will have to wait for the next course."

"Fair enough," said Sam. The steward resumed passing out food.

"What is that guy, stoned?" said Dean.

"They don't know what food allergies are, Dean," Sam told him.

"Super," said Dean, waiting for the next course.

Ten minutes later, the steward brought them smoked herrings.

Dean glared at his place, pushing it away. "Screw this. Let's go see what the rich people are eating."

He began to stand up when Sam yanked him back down in his seat.

"No, Dean, we can't. We're not allowed up there."

Dean cocked his eyebrow up at Sam. "We do a lot of things we're not allowed to, Sam."

"No, Dean. Not this time, we don't."

Dean glared at Sam, turning back to his herrings. "I hate you, Sam."

"You're welcome," Sam said, turning back to his food.

* * *

Sam yanked Dean over towards the railing on the stern. "What are you doing, Dean? We gotta keep a low profile."

"I am," Dean defended.

"By hitting on women a century older than you?" said Sam skeptically.

Dean glanced back at the lovely young women he'd been charming. "They're not a century old right now."

"They're married!"

"So, what, we're all dying in twelve hours."

"That's not the point! Anything you do could change history. Maybe even wipe out our family."

Dean rolled his eyes, sitting down. "Buzzkill."

"Are you allergic to behaving, or something?" said Sam.

"Come on, Sam, it's my dying wish," said Dean.

"Oh, no. You're not pulling that crap on me again."

"You prude."

"Would you focus? We don't exactly have time for you to run around cavorting with every woman you see."

Dean smirked. "Cavorting? We're from the 21st century, Jeeves. Talk like a normal person."

"Focus, Dean."

"Fine, I'll be good."

"Thank you."

"So what time does the action start?"

"11:40 PM. That's when the iceberg hits."

"Oh, I gotta see that!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Be a little sensitive, Dean."

"I backed off the chicks, didn't I?"

Sam rolled his eyes, his gaze falling on Dean's hand and eyes widening. "And good thing, too. Look."

Dean glanced around at his feet. "What?"

Sam pointed at his hand. "You're married, Dean."

Dean looked down at the silver-colored band on his left ring finger. "Aw, dammit. Well, if I'm married, where's my wife?"

"Probably in New York, waiting for you."

"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean.

"We're here to save you, Dean, not get you laid," said Sam.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Dean. "So, what do we do to pass the time?"

"Uh…there's the library, sleeping, eating…" suggested Sam.

Dean slumped back on the bench, rolling his eyes. "Super."

Sam sighed, knowing the ship couldn't offer anything to entertain Dean. Dean had always enjoyed hunting, especially if it was illegal. For some reason, doing something he wasn't supposed to always gave Dean a sort of rush.

_Well, if it'll get his mind off of everything…_

"Or…I can think of something else," said Sam.

Dean looked up at him, intrigued.

* * *

"Dude, this is so illegal," Dean said as he smiled, making his way through the corridors after his brother.

"I know, now be quiet!" said Sam, heading through the door in front of them.

They walked out onto the deck. Now they were in the well deck just in front of the bridge. They looked up at the bridge and upper decks to see if anyone was out there. No one was paying attention, so they snuck over to the stairs, heading up to the bow. They reached the gate that read: Officers Only Beyond This Point. Sam climbed over the railing, ducking low as Dean followed. They hurried towards the very front of the ship, plopping down on the deck against the railing and laughing.

"Oh, man, that was awesome!" laughed Dean.

"Yeah," agreed Sam, sighing. "Guess they didn't have Winchesters in mind when they built those gates."

"Damn right," laughed Dean. He looked out through the railing at the ocean right in front of them. "Oh, hey, check this out." Dean stood up.

"Dean—" Sam started, reaching a hand out to pull him back down.

Dean stood against the very front railing, spreading his arms wide and throwing his head back to let loose a yell. "I'm the king of the world!"

Sam couldn't help but laugh as he pulled Dean back down to the deck. Dean laughed as he collapsed against the railing. They sat there for a few minutes, just laughing together.

_When was the last time we just hung out like brothers and had fun like this?_ Sam thought. _Two years at least…before I died._

Their laughter was cut short as they heard a gate click closed. They darted for a structure that was large enough to hide them, waiting for the officer to reach the front railing. They got up and ran to the railing, vaulting over it and landing back in the well deck. The brothers darted through the door and slammed it closed, laughing.

"Oh, man, what a rush!" said Dean.

"You said it," said Sam, laughs dying but smiles still on their faces.

Dean sighed. "So…what do we do now?"

Sam groaned as he threw his head into his hands.

**Am I the only one who finds Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki running around on the decks of Titanic hot? No? Just me? Oh, well…Girl can dream...Hmm...**


	4. Chapter 4

Someone help me! Anyone have an idea for what to do next?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

**Thanks again to Historychick1835. She's really good at suggestions! I think I got it from here.**

"Let's just head back to the room," said Sam.

"Fine," grumbled Dean. "Nothing to do on this ship anyway."

They headed for the common room to head back down to their cabin. As they made their way through the crowded space, Sam bumped his shoulder into someone.

"I'm sorry—" started Sam, until he looked at the man's face. He froze as he stared at the guy.

"Sam?" asked Dean.

"It's no trouble at all," said the man in a deep Irish accent. He looked back down at his small notebook, writing in it.

Sam just continued to stare at the man, his jaw dropping.

"Dude," said Dean, giving Sam a slap on the shoulder. "What's wrong with you?"

Sam looked over at Dean, lowering his voice. "Do you even know who that is?"

Dean looked over at the Irish man, frowning. "No."

"That's Thomas Andrews," said Sam. "He's the architect, the one who designed the _Titanic_."

Dean's eyes widened as his face lit up like a kid in a candy store. "Oh, my God! Is it really him?!" Dean's face fell back into a scowl, rolling his eyes. "Gimme a break. Come on."

Sam looked back at the man. "You're Mr. Andrews, aren't you?"

The man looked up at him. "Why, yes, I am. How did you know?"

Sam began thinking off the top of his head. "Well, you're not dressed like the rest of us, so I figured you weren't third-class. And the only person who would be down here is the architect, so…"

"Wow, good eye," said Thomas, smiling.

"Yeah, yeah, Sam, good eye," mumbled Dean, trying to drag Sam towards the staircase. "Let's go."

Sam shrugged Dean off and faced Thomas again. "I have to say, this ship is just amazing. You did a really good job designing it."

"Why, thank you," said Thomas.

"I mean it," said Sam. "You did an amazing job with this ship. And none of it is your fault."

Thomas frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sam froze, realizing he'd just about given away too much.

Dean chose that moment to jump in. "Who knows what he means. The kid is so existential, no one really knows what he's saying. Most of the time, I just smile and nod. What do you say we get some sleep, huh, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and quickly moved away from Thomas with Dean following him.

"Dude, what's wrong with you?" said Dean in a hushed tone. "You almost gave away the ending. Time travel, remember?"

"I know, I know," said Sam. "I don't know what came over me."

Dean smiled. "Aw, Sammy lost his mind when he saw his idol in person."

"Shut up."

"Dude, you were totally fawning all over him," teased Dean. "You are such a geek."

"I said, shut up," said Sam as they headed down the staircase. They made it to their room to find their roommate gone. "Alright, let's see what's the story with these two."

Sam and Dean began searching through Matt and Alex's belongings. Sam opened Alex's trunk and searched through it, pausing when he found a false bottom. He took the bottom out and froze. The bottom of the trunk was full of knives, guns and other weapons.

"Dean, you better take a look at this," said Sam.

"I think you better take a look at this," said Dean. Sam glanced over to see Dean in front of Matt's trunk. There was also a false bottom full of weapons. "Looks like our grandparents weren't the start of the hunting business."

"I'd say," said Sam. "There's salt, holy water, iron knives, iron bullets, lore books, exorcism rituals…Looks like Matt and Alex headed to Europe to hunt something." Sam looked back down into the trunk, spotting a stack of old newspaper clippings. His eyes froze as he read the headline of the topmost article.

"All the way across the Atlantic?" muttered Dean. "What, were there no hunters over there?"

"I don't know," said Sam, reaching for the top newspaper clipping. "But I think I know what they were hunting."

"What?" asked Dean, scooting over to Sam's side.

Sam showed him the article that he was holding. "Look familiar?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Son of a bitch."

The headline read: YELLOW-EYED KILLER BUTCHERS DOZENS.

"What is it with our family and this demon?" said Sam. "It's like he's everywhere we go."

"So, Yellow-Eyes was in Europe before he headed over to our neck of the woods?" said Dean.

"Looks like. He was probably looking for Lucifer."

"Lucifer? Why?"

"I don't know. But that's what the demons' end game seems to be. I mean, Lillith is breaking the seals to free him, right? And Lillith was freed when the devil's gate was opened, and Yellow-Eyes was the one who wanted the gate opened in the first place. So, he was probably trying to get Lillith out so they could free Lucifer. Maybe he was in Europe trying to find him back in 1912."

Dean stared at Sam. "That doesn't make any sense, you know."

"You got a different theory, I'd love to hear it," said Sam. Dean looked off into space, frowning. "That's what I thought."

"Alright, so…our entire family were hunters all the way back to the early 1900s," speculated Dean. He looked up at Sam. "Don't we ever get a break?"

"Guess not," said Sam. He looked over at Matt's trunk. "Hey, you find anything on your wife in there?"

"Uh…" muttered Dean as he went back over to the trunk. He rifled through the contents before pulling out a faded photograph in a frame. "I think this is her."

He showed the picture to Sam. The woman in the photo was wearing a simple, plaid dress with a shawl, and she was holding a baby in her arms.

"You have a kid?" asked Sam, stunned.

"No, Matt has a kid, remember?" said Dean.

Sam flipped the photo over, reading the inscription on the back of it. "Elizabeth Campbell and William Campbell, 1911." Sam's eyes widened.

"What?" asked Dean.

"You don't recognize that name?" asked Sam.

"No," said Dean, frowning. He paused. "Wait, wasn't William Campbell our—"

"Great grandfather, yeah," said Sam. "Looks like our line of the family comes from you, or, you know…Matt."

"But Matt died," said Dean.

"This picture is from 1911," said Sam. "William's already born. He just grew up without a father."

"Well, screw that," said Dean, grabbing the picture. "He's not gonna grow up without a father, not if I can help it."

"So, you're finally on board?" asked Sam.

"I've been on board, Sammy," said Dean. "I mean, hell, I'm depending on whether Matt lives or dies."

"Alright, then," said Sam. "Let's figure out a plan."

"Sounds good to me," said Dean. "Although, you're gonna have to fill me in on what's gonna happen, since, apparently, you're a _Titanic_ fan."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jerk."

"Bitch," laughed Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

"Please tell me dinner is more appetizing," muttered Dean as the stewards distributed food. The steward reached them and set down their plates: soup. Dean shrugged. "Better than porridge."

After soup came cream of wheat, beats ("Son of a bitch." "Give it a rest, Dean."), and cabbage.

The two of them left the dining room and headed up to the decks just as the sun was setting. Sam stood at the railing, staring off into the distance.

"You okay?" asked Dean.

Sam nodded slowly. "All these people…we can't save them." Dean nodded and stood at the railing next to Sam. "These are the last few hours of the lives of over half the people on this ship."

"Well, you said it yourself, man: we can't change history."

"I know. It's just…it's hard, you know?"

"Yeah."

They waited on the deck until darkness took over the sky.

"What time is it?" asked Sam.

Dean looked at Matt's pocket watch. "Uh…eight o'clock."

"Come on, let's get a little sleep. We'll need it."

They headed back down to their room and fell asleep.

* * *

Dean jolted awake as their door burst open. Their unnamed roommate stumbled into the room, laughing. Dean groaned and looked over at the pocket watch: 11:15.

"Sam!" Dean called as he jumped out of bed.

"What?" asked Sam as he woke up.

"We missed it!" said Dean, scrambling for his shirt.

"We what?!" said Sam.

"We overslept," said Dean. "It's 11:15!" There was silence before Sam started laughing. Dean looked at him. "What is so funny?"

"Dean, it's at 11:40," said Sam.

Dean paused, relaxing. "I knew that. I was just testing you."

"Sure, you were," said Sam, grabbing his own shirt.

When they were fully dressed, they made their way to the front-most deck they could get to: forward well deck just in front of the bridge. It was now 11:30. They stood at the railing, leaning over to look towards the bow. There was a slight haze in front of them.

"Ten minutes, huh?" said Dean.

"Ten minutes," confirmed Sam.

Dean was standing next to Sam, closer to the front of the ship, and was therefore the first to see it.

"There it is," said Dean.

Sam squinted in the darkness and spotted a mountain of ice in front of the ship. Sam looked at Dean. "Here we go."

The crows' nest bell rang three times, and a moment later, the engines slowed and started up again. The ship moved to the left slightly, but not enough. The iceberg clipped the bow, scraping along and tearing a hole below the water. As the berg drew along the right of the ship where the brothers stood, the railing above them on their left clipped the berg, raining ice down onto the deck.

"Sammy!" Dean called, pushing him clear of the falling ice.

Dean fell to the deck as the ice pummeled into the ribs on his left side.

"Oh, son of a bitch…"

"Dean!" Sam called, kneeling next to him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "I think we figured out where the first bruises came from."

Sam looked around at the ice on the deck surrounding them as the ship's engines shut off. "Guess so."

Dean lifted his shirt and looked down at the purple bruises starting to appear above his ribs. "Yup. Looks like."

Sam helped Dean up. "Come on. Let's head for the stern."

"Shouldn't we help as many as we can?"

"Dean, we can't change history."

"I'm not talking about changing history. Matt and Alex are hunters. A hunter's job is to help people. Don't you think they would have helped people get off the ship?"

"So, what do you suggest?"

* * *

Dean pounded on the doors on the right side of the third-class corridor. "Wake up! Get out of here!"

Sam did the same on the left doors. "Come on! We're sinking!"

Dean pounded on another door. "Wake up! We're taking on water!"

"Wake up!" Sam called. "The ship is sinking!"

They proceeded down the corridors, rousing the passengers from their sleep. The passengers on the lowermost decks already had about an inch of water and were already moving.

"What time is it?" asked Sam.

Dean pulled out the pocket watch. "12:15. When do we sink?"

"2:20," said Sam. "So we got two hours."

**One hour later…**

Sam and Dean pushed through the crowd, heading for the back of the ship. The ship was tilted at about 45 degrees, and people were beginning to really panic. As Sam brushed by some men by the boats, one of them mistook his pushing as an attempt to beat him to a boat. The man spun around and punched Sam.

"Hey!" said Dean. He grabbed the man, who drove his elbow back into Dean's face, connecting with the area under Dean's left eye. He fell to the deck on his back, and Sam pulled him to his feet.

"We don't want trouble!" said Sam. "We're just trying to get by!"

The man turned back to the boat, hoping to get in.

"What a dick," said Dean.

"He's scared, Dean," said Sam. He looked at Dean's face. "Well, there's your face wound."

Dean could imagine a slight bruise running from his eye to his nose. "Come on, let's move."

They quickly made their way towards the back of the ship. By now, the crowd was steadily beginning to make their way towards the stern. They began approaching a railing at the edge of the deck when a panicked passenger brushed by Dean, pushing him towards the railing. Dean's forehead hit the metal railing, and his head whipped to the side.

"Dean!" Sam called, rushing to Dean's side as he collapsed to the deck, unconscious. He knelt next to Dean, shaking him. "Dean! Wake up, man!"

It took a couple of minutes, but Dean finally moaned and opened his eyes.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean, climbing to his feet. "Guess we know how I fell unconscious now."

"Come on, it's two," said Sam. "We don't have much time."

Within fifteen minutes, they had arrived at the back of C Deck, unable to get down to the well deck to get to the stern. The lights suddenly went out, and Sam grabbed onto Dean's shirt.

"Dean, jump!" said Sam.

"What, are you crazy?" said Dean. "That water's freezing, believe me! We should stay out of it as long as we can!"

"Dean, the ship is about to break in two!" yelled Sam.

Dean looked over at the deck not far from them. Sure enough, the wood was beginning to splinter.

Dean turned to the railing. "Jump!" He vaulted over the railing as Sam did the same. He heard a great bang split the air on his way down. As he hit the ocean surface, arctic water engulfed him, touching every pore in his body.

_Son of a bitch! I really didn't want to feel this again!_

Dean kicked for the surface, drawing in a deep breath as his head broke the surface. He looked up just as the ship's stern fell back on the water. It bobbed for a moment on the waves as the funnels fell off the ship.

"Dean!"

Dean spun on the spot, seeing Sam a dozen feet away, looking for him.

"Sammy!" Dean called. "Over here!"

Sam turned and swam towards Dean. "You okay?"

"Other than everything that's happening right now, sure," said Dean.

They turned toward the ship when a groan echoed over the water. The stern was pulled upright and came to rest at a ninety degree angle. Slowly, the _Titanic_ sank under the surface.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

Sam looked around in the water, searching through the crowd of screaming passengers for anything that was floating. He spotted one.

"D-Dean, over here," called Sam, the shivering beginning to kick in.

The two of them swam over to it, and Dean stared in disbelief.

"A d-door?" said Dean. "N-no way."

"C-come on," said Sam, pulling himself onto the door.

Dean didn't move. "I'm g-good."

Sam could see that Dean knew the door would not support the both of them. "D-don't you see, D-Dean? This is h-how M-Matt d-died. He g-gave his life f-for Alex b-by g-giving him the s-spot on the d-door."

"And h-how is that g-gonna change?" asked Dean.

_This is what I came back for,_ Sam thought. _I have psychic powers. I just wonder if they'll work on the door._ He placed his hands on the door and concentrated. The door righted itself in the water and stayed firm. "D-Dean, g-get on the d-door."

"D-dude, I am n-not b-being the K-Kate Winslet to your Leo D-DiCaprio."

"Just get on the d-damn d-door!"

Dean rolled his eyes—or, tried to. With the chill, it came off as more of a nervous twitch. He swam forward, putting his hands on the door. When it didn't dip under his weight, he looked up in shock at Sam.

"Are y-you…" asked Dean.

"Y-yeah, I am," said Sam. "G-get on."

Dean climbed onto the door, which didn't move an inch. He sat beside Sam, drawing his legs up to his chest for warmth. Sam had his legs curled up to his side, his hands flat on the wood, concentrating.

They waited out the night, listening to the screams and cries as they died down and grew silent. After about an hour, a lifeboat made its way through the bodies. As the boat approached the door, Dean slowly got to his feet.

"Steady," said the officer in the boat.

Dean stepped off the door and into the lifeboat. Sam then slowly made his way to his feet, holding his arms out to keep a psychic grip on the door. As he shuffled his feet to the edge of the door, he looked up at the lifeboat, and his attention wavered. The door dipped under his feet, and Sam fell towards the boat, grabbing onto the side as the door gave way and sank under him. The officers helped pull Sam into the lifeboat, who collapsed onto the floor with Dean. Two men threw blankets over the two of them.

Sam pulled the blanket closer around him, shivering. "W-well…w-we're safe."

"L-looks l-like," answered Dean.

The world blacked out as Sam closed his eyes.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes to find himself in their motel room. He was lying on the floor in between the two beds. Missouri sat at the table, reading through a book she must have brought.

Missouri looked over at Sam, sensing that he was awake now. "Well, did it work?"

Sam heard a groan from the bed next to him. "Dean!" He sat up, looking over at the bed. Dean lay in the four blankets on the bed, shivering. "But we stopped it! We saved Matt! How can—"

"Relax, Sam," said Dean, looking up at him. "I'm feeling a lot better. Still freezing my ass off, but I can feel myself warming up."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"What about me?" said Missouri.

Sam looked apologetically at her. "Thank you, too, Missouri. We couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome, boys," said Missouri. She headed for the room door, looking back at them as she opened it. "Don't you boys be strangers now."

Sam smiled at her. "We won't."

Missouri left the room, and Sam looked down at Dean. "Are you sure you feel okay?"

"Dude, I'm fine," said Dean. "Back to burning corpses in no time."

"And that's supposed to be normal?"

"Normal for us."

Sam nodded, smiling. "True."

The End


End file.
